Objects may appear closer than they are
by Jammie-Bro
Summary: Post Doomsday. The Doctor and Rose have to deal with their lives apart. Do they look back? Forward? Is coping as easy as it's said to be? Does time heal? TenRose


**Author's notes:**_I've taken to listening to Meatloaf again- I don't really know why I haven't been listening to him in the last couple of years, really. He's a lot better than he gets credit for, I think. Anyway, I needed a title for this little ficlet which has been brewing in my brain for a while, and this song is very apt, if you ask me. I know it's a lot different from my usual Harry Potter vein- but Doctor Who's captured my interest; and whenever I find there's an issue I don't like in a series I feel the need to write about it. So there you go. Ficlet!_

_I'm also starting to get a fetish for italics. I'm now debating whether or not to write the whole piece in them…_

Maybe I will next time.

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**Objects in the rear view mirror may appear closer than they are**

**By Jammie-Bro**

Rose rolled over again in defeat. She wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep, like it or not. Pulling herself to her feet whilst discarding her duvet half-heartedly, she felt her joints complain as if she'd run miles. Normally she'd sarcastically remark on how she was turning senile at nineteen and how she'd soon need a prosthetic leg, but today she knew exactly why her joints annoyed her so.

She hadn't moved all night.

Another symptom of her dreams.

The floor was cold under her bare feet, sending a numbing chill up her legs. Numb. That was adequate, she thought.

Throwing a teabag into a cup and trooping solemnly across the kitchen, Rose noticed a dull ache behind her breastbone; a tightness that pricked the tearducts and made her limbs feel heavy and tepid.

Her mother brightly bustled into the kitchen with a loud, colloquial greeting: Rose offered her a wan smile, then dropped her head back to morosely stabbing the teabag with her spoon. Jackie Tyler's cockney tones faded and dissolved around Rose as if she were wearing ear-muffs- the eternal buzz of activity – voices, images, information- fighting for control in her mind made all that was consciously around her far less important. Same, dull, predictable stuff anyway.

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS briskly, just as the unearthly roaring was ebbing away. He was barely ever aware of the sounds his ship made- he was so used to them, comfortable with them. There were few things he could call comfortable now, he thought flippantly- his battered converse, his beautiful tardis, the constant drum of his two hearts beating in harmony. Another planet, never any less amazing and eye-opening but never any newer or more exciting than the last. He realised he'd landed on earth in the late nineteen eighties. Why am I back here? He wondered. After the scurge of high-waisted trousers and big hairdos and, naturally, the big aliens that were drawn to the trend, the late eighties were a bit of a lull for alien activity. Wandering down Hollywood Boulevard, scuffing the names beneath his feet on the star-shaped plaques- human, human, alien, nice man- shame about the teeth and the fetish for blood- human, gramith, alien, destitute…

And, quite abruptly, he stopped in his tracks, almost subconsciously. For a moment he'd wondered why he'd stopped- then turned to listen to the music that was playing from the cult shop he was stood in front of.

'**_..She used her body just like a bandage_**

**_She used my body just like a wound…'_**

He knew the artist, record, what the artist'd been eating when he wrote it, how he'd aquired his grotesque face- which a lot of people weren't aware of, he reminded himself. But he'd heard this track a million times- why'd he stop?

Then a memory blasted its way to the forefront of his mind, closely followed by a million others- how she smelled, the way she walked, the sound of her voice, the way her skin felt under his, the smile- oh god, the smile- grinning at him- a piece preserved, perfect, despite however much time had, or was to pass.

'**_..The skies were pure_**

_**And the fields were green **_

_**And the sun was brighter than you've ever seen**_

_**It was always summer**_

_**And the future called**_

**_We were ready for adventures and we wanted them all..'_**

He'd had plenty of companions- liked them, loved some, lost them all eventually; that was the way things went. Move on, keep moving, all things live, all things die.

'_**..But I can still recall the sting of all the tears when she was gone..'**_

It was foreign, alien to him that such a familiar thing as a few chords thrown together and the singings of a human could have such an effect on him. He pulled himself up again immediately- he'd lived with humans for centuries, all their rituals, habits and cultures surely rubbed off on him- but usually they'd wash over and not penetrate his subconscious like this had. But now he couldn't stop his train of memories- every look on her face, how she'd stick her tongue out when she was concentrating- how she'd held him when the universe was all too much, when he'd woken screaming from terrifying memories and dreams.

'…**_The stars would glimmer_**

_**And the moon would glow**_

_**Those were the rights of spring**_

_**And we did everything**_

**_There was salvation every day.._**

_**..She used her body just like a bandage**_

_**She used my body just like a wound**_

_**I'll probably never know why she disappeared**_

**_But I can see her now, standing next to me_**

**_Like an angel rising up from a tomb..."_**

He couldn't think of her- she was in the past, however recent that was. Well, technically it was the future- no, he wasn't going to start thinking like that again! He had to shake her from his mind- she was far away; she was gone. But, as an unfamiliar feeling caught in his throat- the last image of her, cold, tears streaming, a desolate beach and her eyes shining with despair, longing, love- and as he watched, painfully slowly as he was tasting the words to be expelled to her- the ones that would make it better- the grain of hope he would see in her eyes turned to dust.

She vanished with her surroundings.

'_**And objects in the rear view mirror**_

**_May appear closer than they are…'_**

He ignored his stinging eyes and forced his legs to carry on walking.

_**Author's notes: **You know what? I may leave it there for today. I've got far more to say about Rose, but I fancy making it a two-parter. I know lots of people don't like fics with great big extracts of song, but I manipulated some of the words so it would suit better- and I think it could be relatively plausible..._

_Please read and review;- any feedback would be great._

_Thank you!_


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